Tim

Tim


My brother Tim has children ten,
While I have none.

Maybe that's why he's toiling when
To ease I've won.

But though I would some of his brood
Give hearth and care,

I know that not a one he would
Have heart to spare.

'Tis children that have kept him poor;
He's clad them neat.

They've never wanted, I am sure,
For bite to eat.

And though their future may be dim,
They laugh a lot.

Am I tearful for Brother Tim?
Oh no, I'm not.

I know he goes to work each day
With flagging feet.

'Tis hard, even with decent pay,
To make ends meet.

But when my sterile home I see,
So smugly prim,

Although my banker bows to me,
I envy Tim.